


What I Was Like Before I Met You

by Fandomization



Category: Original Work
Genre: But not that much, Gen, Stabbing, Violence, mention of drugs, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandomization/pseuds/Fandomization
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since we're being honest, I was a little stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Was Like Before I Met You

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I wrote for a roleplay, taking place moments before the start of it and the two characters met.

There had been his hot, smelly breath on my face, the familiar smell of tobacco smoke coming from the both of us, and the metallic scent of blood coming from me. It streamed down my nose, into my mouth and dripped onto my black shirt. If that wasn't enough, the stranger pulled me away from the wall before roughly slamming me back against it once more, causing my head to smash against the uneven brick. Crack! My muscles tensed at the noise, and my vision began to go fuzzy from the impact on the back of my brain. Blood oozed in my mouth from biting down on the inside of my cheek and tongue. I might've had a concussion, but there there had been no way to be sure unless I managed to get out of there and to a hospital, which sure as hell wasn't going to happen. "Come on, bitch, where's it at?" The voice of my attacker cleared my sight a little bit, but I still could not see his face underneath the black ski mask.

  
"I don't have any, man," I said back, trying to convince him of the obvious fib. I could sell quite the extravagant lie when I wanted to, but this guy just was not buying.

  
"You really think I'm fucking stupid, huh? Do you, bitch? I can fucking smell it on you, so where did you fucking put it?" The look in the stranger's eyes appeared as if he wanted to spit in my face and grind me into the dirt, but I held my ground. This idiot didn't look in pockets, apparently, so it must've been a good idea to fake stashing the small baggie somewhere.

  
I whimpered lightly in protest, trying to get my arms unpinned from the wall so I could pull the knife off my neck. It pressed threateningly against my jugular. I wasn't scared that he would actually cut my throat; I was scared that this guy didn't even know how to use a weapon and his hand would just slip. "I didn't buy any, okay?" The pressure on my neck lightened slightly, and I took that as a sign to keep talking. "Shit, Scratch was charging a small fortune for the fuckin' weed all of a sudden. I left without buying."

  
The man across from me snorted. It was a sound of complete and utter disbelief, and by this point, I agreeed with him. My argument was not valid or believable. "Like that would fuckin' stop you, whore." Oh, so I was a bitch before, but now I'm a whore? "Come on, Scratch wouldn't turn down that cocksucker mouth of yours it return for an ounce or two." He continued to taunt me, and shifted on his feet for a moment, which gave me a small glimmer of hope like the light that came from under a closed door.

  
I unwedged my legs from between his and kneed him hard in the sack, and he groaned in response. Luckily, the blade on my neck pulled away instead of pressing down and ultimately slitting my throat. One of the hands pinning me to the wall had let go of my wrist when he involuntarily reached for his groin. I used the opportunity to deliver a right hook to the side of his head, and he stumbled to the side, but he still had a muscled grip on my left arm. I went down with him, and his superior strength allowed for him to wrestle me down onto the ground. The muddy water that got all over my back and in my hair was the least of my worries; especially now that he held the knife three feet above my stomach with it pointed downwards. My eyes barely processed the movement of him bringing it down, and all I feltwas the sudden piercing in my abdomen. He repeated the motion at least five more times (I had lost count during my struggle) while I tried in vain to wrestle my way out from under his overwhelming weight. "Agh, please, stop--" I choked out, my hand reaching for the arm holding the blade.

  
It didn't seem like he was going to stop, but at that moment, a cop car passed at the end of the alley. My attacker looked up at it, like a deer in the headlights, before getting up off of me and ditching the scene. The clatter of his boots along the ground rang in my ears for minutes after he was gone, and only once it had faded did I begin looking for anything to save me. There was a nearby dumpster, and even though it made my nose scrunch up in disgust, I pulled myself over, dragging my body across the ground so that I could find shelter from view. God be damned if I was ever going to let anybody see me like this. Even if my abdomen screamed in protest, once safely behind the dumpster and laying up against the wall, I pushed myself up into a sitting position so my legs weren't sticking right out in the open. My breathing, by this point, was ragged and loud, but I couldn't quite get enough air in my lungs. It had hurt to breathe too deeply and it haf hurt to breathe too shallowly. Never, not even once, could it have been easy?

  
The blood leaked from my stomach like a runny faucet, and it had not taken long for my hands to be drenched in red. God, I wanted to puke, but I had nothing in my stomach to regurgitate.

  
Suddenly, there had been a voice from the end of the alley.


End file.
